


Dreams Burn to Ash

by Nebula5030



Series: Dreams Intertwine [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (All character deaths were in the first fic- no one else dies), Aftermath of battle, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Chapter one can be a stand alone follow-up, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Golden Age AU, Grieving, Hopeful Ending, Lots of Angst, M/M, Silver Age AU might be more accurate, ish, referenced character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebula5030/pseuds/Nebula5030
Summary: And all Arthur could do was watch as the flames grew.  As they grew and enveloped the bodies of the lovers: his brother and his friend.He’d said no more sorcerers would ever burn in Camelot.He never imagined the last one would be Merlin.Sequel toDreams Bleed Away





	Dreams Burn to Ash

The battle was over.

The losses had been thankfully few - much less than Arthur had been expecting - and he let out a relieved breath as he saw men clad in Camelot red approaching him.

His eyes skipped across the people standing by him. Elyan was there, leaning on Leon as he tenderly held his leg. He’d been struck there, but nothing more. Only heavy bruising would come of it, though it may take some time before he could walk properly again. Percival was a little ways off, making his way over to Arthur as his eyes took in the damage surrounding them. Lancelot was near as well, eyeing those around them, before turning to Arthur and looking him over in concern.

Other soldiers and knights approached, and as Arthur took in their faces, a feeling of dread sunk into him.

No matter where he looked, Arthur couldn’t find Merlin.

Or Gwaine.

He’d lost sight of them during the battle, but they had to be fine.

Merlin was always fine - after each bandit raid, after each ambush. No matter what they came across, Merlin was always fine.

And Gwaine was, well, _Gwaine._ Strong, carefree, larger than life _Gwaine._ The thought of him _not_ being fine was too wrong to even consider.

They were fine.

They had to be fine.

 _“_ _Arthur!”_

Arthur glanced over, and his eyes widened.

Percival stood in the field, staring over at Arthur with his own eyes wide and shocked before turning his head to look at something. Arthur followed his gaze and -

And Arthur’s heart could have stopped.

No.

_No._

_“No.”_

Arthur’s feet began to move before he’d even realized it, pulling him closer to the sight that he didn’t want to see. The sight he didn’t want to believe.

But no matter how much it pained him to look, no matter how much he didn’t want the sight to be true, he couldn’t pull his gaze away. Away from what he’d seen. Away from _them -_

Merlin and Gwaine. Lying next to each other on the battlefield.

Their foreheads were resting together, one of Gwaine’s arms across Merlin’s chest, and their hands -

\- their hands intertwined, still holding the other even in death.

Arthur fell to his knees at Merlin’s side, and shakily reached out a hand to Merlin’s cheek, almost hoping that he wouldn’t feel anything - that the man before him was an illusion and nothing more.

Merlin’s skin- streaked with blood - was already cold.

Arthur’s breathing grew ragged, and he grabbed the arm Gwaine had across Merlin’s chest, desperately feeling for Gwaine’s pulse. Desperately hoping to feel even just a flutter beneath his skin. Just a flutter. _Please._ Just a flutter.

No.

No no no no no no no no, _no!_

Arthur screamed, the sound ripping itself from his throat before he even had the chance to stop it.

He didn’t know what he said. Or even if he said anything at all. He didn’t notice Elyan and Lancelot and Leon appearing at his side. He didn’t hear their exclamations of shock and grief over his own.

The screams turned to sobs some time later, his tears falling to the bloodstained dirt below and sinking into the earth. And Arthur couldn’t help but think of how mere moments ago he was celebrating a victory. How mere moments ago he was _relieved_ and _proud_ and _satisfied_ with the outcome of the battle.

But he hadn’t known what he’d lost then.

Yes, they’d won.

But at what cost?

Arthur heard someone crouch down next to him several moments after he’d fallen into silence, the sobs having run out for now, and a moment later felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Arthur, we need… we need to take them home,” Leon began softly, ever the voice of reason even when his own was thick with grief.

Arthur took in a breath and nodded shortly. He needed to be Arthur the General now. Arthur the Warrior King. Not Arthur the Brother. Not Arthur the Friend. “Of course,” he began, already reaching forward.

It felt sacrilegious to separate their hands, and Arthur’s stomach twisted painfully as he pulled their fingers apart - as he undid the last thing either of them did in life. Arthur screwed his eyes shut and let out a sharp breath, willing the emotions rising in him to go down as he laid Gwaine’s hand across his own chest, and did the same with Merlin.

He heard Percival crouch down, and a moment later felt Gwaine’s body shift as the knight took Gwaine in his arms and stood. A moment later, Lancelot did the same with Merlin, standing with him in his arms.

Arthur stayed there for a moment, staring at Gwaine’s blood - Merlin’s blood - _their_ blood where it had soaked the grass, before he let out a breath and stood.

Percival and Lancelot were heading off, shoulders slumped with both the burden of grief and the bodies they were carrying.

Arthur glanced to his side to see Elyan staring after them with wide, anguished, eyes. He turned to Arthur, his eyes brimming, before he too let out a breath and began to limp after his friends, an arm around Leon’s shoulders.

Arthur waited for a moment himself, before he began following, his mind detached from his feet and not caring where he went or stepped.

He took another step, and his foot landed on something.

Arthur glanced down, and had to stifle another sob.

Gwaine’s sword lay under his feet, left where the knight must have dropped it.

Where he had dropped it as he’d gone to Merlin’s side, to be with the man he loved before the end.

Slowly, Arthur bent, before grabbing the blade and standing once more. Before staring at it silently for a moment, and then looking up and staring after his knights and their blood-colored cloaks and the bodies they carried, numbness setting into him.

Yes, they’d won.

But at what cost?

~

Their funeral was four days later.

Arthur stood in the courtyard, partway down the stairs and staring at a pile of wood that had been assembled on the cobblestones.

The courtyard was filled both with commoners and those of the court, standing shoulder to shoulder and sharing their grief, from the lowest commoner to the highest lord. From those who Merlin and Gwaine had considered friends in life, all the way to those who simply didn’t want to be the only ones not to attend.

Arthur would not have been surprised if the entire city had showed up.

But beyond the citizens of Camelot, at the edges, Arthur could see other figures - robed, and hoods pulled up over their bowed heads.

Arthur would never turn the Druids away from the funeral of Emrys.

Gwen was to his side, her hand in his, and he felt her squeeze his hand as she took in a sharp breath.

Arthur turned, and it felt as if he’d been struck.

Lancelot and Leon emerged from the side-door first, Merlin set on a stretcher between the two of them and dressed in fine blue robes, his hands resting on his abdomen.

He looked as if he could have only been sleeping.

Percival and Sir Caradoc, a knight who was older than Arthur, followed a moment later with Gwaine between them. Gwaine’s red cloak pooled around him, and he was dressed in a fine gray shirt and brown vest, his own hands resting on his stomach.

Elyan stood on Gwen’s other side, holding his sister’s hand and staring after them with red-rimmed eyes. He’d wanted to take Caradoc’s place - to be one of the ones to carry them in, but his leg had refused to let him carry anything beyond his own body weight. So he was forced to watch, just like Gwen and Arthur.

There had been a path in the crowd, leaving room for the knights to carry Merlin and Gwaine to the pyre. Slowly, Lancelot, Leon, Percival, and Caradoc approached the unlit wood, before splitting as they circled it. Merlin to one side, Gwaine to the other.

But they laid the bodies down, side by side, on top of the kindling.

Leon and Caradoc stepped back almost immediately, but Percival took a moment to look over Gwaine, giving Gwaine’s hand one last squeeze before he followed. Lancelot took a little longer, looking over Merlin with grieved eyes, before he leaned in and whispered something to Merlin. He took another moment, and even Arthur could see the shaky breath he took from how far away he stood, before softly, tenderly placing a kiss to Merlin’s brow. But then he too stepped away and rejoined his fellow knights at the side.

Arthur stepped forward and spoke. About courage, bravery. About the loyalty they both had had in life. Both to him and to each other.

He spoke. About how much they had done for Camelot, and for him.

He spoke, though the words felt like ash in his mouth.

Ash, just as his brother and friend were soon to be.

What was the point of words when those who should have heard them were no longer there?

He finished, before stepping back and rejoining Gwen, his hand slipping into hers without a second thought.

“You did wonderfully,” she whispered, her voice thick.

Arthur turned to her and found her looking up at him with brimming eyes. She smiled ruefully, the motion causing the tears to spill over. “They would have been proud.”

Arthur returned the rueful smile before squeezing her hand. But then with a breath, he looked forward to the crowd again.

And then, he met the eyes of the lead Druid. He nodded once, and she did in return.

Silently, reverently, the Druids walked forward through the crowd to the wood.

And with a whispered word and a flash of gold, their hands were filled with blossoms, soft and white and delicate, and they began to set the flowers around the two bodies.

It was silent, no one speaking, and the only sound was of Camelot’s banners above as they cracked and snapped in the breeze.

After a few minutes, the Druids stepped back.

And Arthur’s breath hitched in his throat.

It now looked like Merlin and Gwaine were lying on a field of flowers - the Druids having completely covered the wood with the white blossoms - and haloed by the petals.

They looked at peace.

And Arthur couldn’t have asked for anything more.

He glanced down and met the lead Druid’s eyes once more, before nodding once more in a silent thank you.

She seemed to understand, and she respectfully dropped her head for a moment, before she and the rest of her companions moved back to their place at the edge of the crowd, heads once more bowed beneath their woolen hoods.

And with that, Arthur turned his gaze back to the pyre, and he felt his chest clench.

It was time.

Without a word, Lancelot stepped forward, an unlit torch in his hand.

He put it to a candle, and as he waited for the torch to catch, Elyan, Leon, Gwen, and Percival all moved forward, each with an unlit torch in their hands as well.

Lancelot’s torch caught, and without a word, he moved to light Percival’s. Then Percival’s to Gwen’s, and Gwen’s to Elyan’s, and Elyan’s to Leon’s. Until they were all lit.

They held for a moment, sorrowful eyes meeting sorrowful eyes, before they all turned towards the pyre.

“Wait,” Arthur said, voice soft yet forceful.

Lancelot stopped, as did the others, before turning to Arthur and simply waiting.

Arthur hesitated for only a moment longer, before stepping forward to Merlin and Gwaine.

Gently, reverently, he lifted one of Merlin’s hands from where it rested on his stomach, before resting it between he and Gwaine, his palm up.

Then, his hand shaking, Arthur reached across and grabbed one of Gwaine’s, before moving it so it rested on Merlin’s, their fingers intertwining once more between the two of them.

Exactly how they had been on the field.

Still holding the other.

Even in death.

Arthur let out a low breath, his eyes shut tight, before he nodded and stepped back.

If his grip was slow to let go, to release them for the final time, no one would ever say anything.

The torchbearers hesitated for only a moment longer, looking at him with grief filled yet grateful eyes, before they all stepped forward as one, and placed their flames to the pile.

And all Arthur could do was watch as the flames grew. As they grew and enveloped the bodies of the lovers: his brother and his friend.

He’d said no more sorcerers would ever burn in Camelot.

He never imagined the last one would be Merlin.


End file.
